


Habit

by serenbach



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bilbo Remains In Erebor, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-17 06:52:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16969806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenbach/pseuds/serenbach
Summary: He hadn't intended it to happen but it was undeniable.By the time Thorin was recovered enough from his injuries to be out of bed, Bilbo was unable to sleep without him.





	Habit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amlovabledeathmo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amlovabledeathmo/gifts).



> Have a happy hobbit holiday amlovabledeathmo!

The first time Bilbo shared a bed with Thorin was unintentional.

It took Bilbo some time to get to sleep that first night at the Shape-changer’s house. He was still jittery and anxious from the chase into the house (as well as everything else that had led up to it), which didn’t exactly put him in a relaxed frame of mind. His fascination with his new ring, while beautiful in his hand and comforting to hold, didn’t help either. He was awake long after all his companions, save Thorin and Balin who were speaking too quietly for him to hear by the entrance to the house.

It was very late indeed by the time his eyes finally drifted shut, fingers still curled around his ring, and he was exhausted beyond all words, but he was still aware of his surroundings as he dozed off. He had been alone when he finally fell asleep, near to his friends but not among them.

When he woke later on, still a few hours before dawn, that was no longer the case. Someone’s much larger back was pressed against his own, and he knew whose it was. He would have known even if it hadn’t been for the fur coat thrown over them both in some sort of attempt at a blanket, though he would have never admitted it out loud. He may no longer be able to describe himself as a respectable gentlehobbit, but he was still polite enough not to admit that he would recognise Thorin by his scent (not as unpleasant as it should be, considering their last bath so far behind them), or his touch, for all that they had only touched a few times and never like this.

Perhaps he should have been embarrassed. Perhaps he should have moved away. But Bilbo was warm, and he was safe, and he closed his eyes and slept peacefully onwards for a few more hours.

When he finally awoke it was full daylight, and he was alone, though Thorin’s coat had been tucked carefully around him, perhaps in apology that its owner was no longer there. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time he had slept so well and so deeply.

Not since he had left Bag End, certainly, but even before that, he still wasn’t sure.

\---

The second time was still an accident.

Bilbo sighed as he pulled back the blankets of the bed in the guest bedroom of the Master’s house. It wasn’t his own bed, of course, but it was _a_ bed and that was the most important consideration at that moment.

The fact that he couldn’t sleep at all was in face of it, rather annoying. Part of it was that the Mountain, and the Dragon, were much closer now, but Bilbo’s mind kept turning back to that night at Beorn’s, the warm and comforting presence at his back.

He was so lost in his reminiscence, trying to recapture that exact sensation of Thorin’s back pressed against him to aid him in sleeping now, when the door to his room opened quietly. Bilbo scrabbled upright, grabbing Sting that had been leaning against the wall by his bed (since the suspicion of his dwarven friends was infectious). Before he could even draw the sword however, the shadowy figure in the doorway spoke.

“Easy, Master Baggins,” Thorin said, his voice very soft.

“How did you know it was me?” Bilbo asked, instead of _why are you in my room,_ which is what he had been thinking. His heart, which had been hammering with fear, had not slowed down even as his fear faded. Instead it was pounding with something that was almost nerves, but not quite. He wasn’t sure why; he hadn’t been nervous of Thorin since the Carrock.    

“I can see well enough in this light,” Thorin replied, and there was an awkward pause while Bilbo tried to think of a response.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Thorin added when Bilbo made no answer, his voice uncharacteristically unsure. “I was unaware that we would be sharing until the Master’s servants informed me just now. I’ll just…”

He trailed off, obviously trying to think of an alternative, and something in Bilbo’s heart – the same something that made him jump in front of a warg and into a river and in front of a hostile crowd for Thorin – twisted at the thought of him wandering alone in a house of strangers, trying to find a place to sleep.

“Don’t be silly,” he said. “This bed is more than big enough for the two of us.”

There was a breath of silence, then Bilbo shuffled over to the other side of the bed, leaning Sting back against the wall before he settled. Apparently, that was enough to convince Thorin, as Bilbo heard the (still strange to him) noise of two boots hitting the floor, as well as the jingling sound of the more pointy bits of armour being removed.

Thorin pulled the blanket back just enough to get in without exposing Bilbo to the cold and lay down, so close to Bilbo that they were almost touching.

Bilbo felt his eyes close, instantly relaxing in Thorin’s presence.

He was asleep in moments, but not before hearing Thorin murmur “thank you” so softly that Bilbo wasn’t entirely sure that he hadn’t dreamed it.

When he woke in the morning, seeing Thorin’s face relaxed and unguarded in sleep went straight to that tender place in his heart.

\---

The third time was definitely not deliberate.

They were in Erebor and Thorin was not himself, and Bilbo was carrying a terrible secret in his coat.

Despite that, when he finally managed to persuade Thorin to sit down and take a break, and Thorin listed into him with exhaustion, Bilbo closed his eyes and - with Thorin’s crown and armour digging into him and the threat of war hanging over them and the Arkenstone hidden in his pocket – felt safe enough to sleep.  

\---

It was only after the battle that it became a habit.

Thorin was so gravely hurt, so close to death, that Bilbo was afraid to leave him.

He had seen him bleeding out, seen his eyes close and not open and his breath fade and faulter, and almost watched the life leave him entirely.

It had been the absolute worst time for Bilbo to realise that he was in love with Thorin, to put it mildly.  

If it had not been for the timely arrival of Beorn and Gandalf, then there would be no chance at all, even as it was, Bilbo had been warned not to hope for too much. He was too tired to hope, too tired to even cry at the sight of him. He was exhausted and grieving and heartsick and he could not bring himself to leave Thorin’s side, even though he knew that there was nothing he could really do.  

It wasn’t until the first time he had fallen asleep beside Thorin’s sickbed, his head on the pallet, his hand over Thorin’s bandaged chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath – shallow but there – and the slow and steady beat of his heart that Bilbo got any rest at all.

And when he woke one morning to find Thorin’s hand in his hair, stroking quietly, his eyes open and present, Bilbo wept again, but with happiness, this time.

"You're finally awake," Thorin said, his voice rough, but soft, and he drew his hand away only far enough to allow Bilbo to sit up, and Bilbo was filled with a strange combination of love and joy and complete exasperation.

" _I'm_ finally awake," he repeated, not sure if he wanted to laugh or carry on crying. "You –" 

Whatever he was going to say was lost as Thorin's hand moved to wipe his tears away. "You're still here," he murmured like he couldn't believe it. "Oin told me that you have barely left my side."

"Well," Bilbo sniffed, wishing futility for a handkerchief once more. "What would you do without me?"

Thorin's smile, _beautiful_ and vibrant and something he had not seen enough of, finally eased the ache in his heart.

"I hope to never find out," Thorin replied.   

\---

Even after Thorin awoke, Bilbo remained at with him in his tent, leaving every now and then to check on Fili and Kili's prognosis (well enough to be exasperating the healers) and talk to his friends.

He still spent every night in the tent. The first night he tried to sleep on a pallet on the floor, but he awoke with a nightmare that Thorin had slipped away from him and rose, heart pounding, to check his pulse.

He woke Thorin in the process, who dismissed his apologies with a sleepy sigh and tugged Bilbo down next to him in the bed. Bilbo resisted until it became clear that Thorin was straining himself, then flopped ungainly down next to him, his blush hidden by the darkness.

It happened the next night, and the one after, and the next, until Bilbo's fears were forgotten, and seeking out Thorin to sleep was a comfort, a habit.

However, spending so much time curled up at Thorin’s side meant that by the time that Thorin was well enough to move into the newly restored royal rooms in Erebor, Bilbo had forgotten how to sleep without him.

The rooms he had been given – as comfortable as was possible in the circumstances – were too large and too empty. His bed was cold without a slumbering dwarf in it, and his room was too quiet without the sound of his breathing.

It was a small price to pay for Thorin to be alive and ruling the Kingdom that was his right, but Bilbo was aware that he looked worse now than he did right after the battle. He looked exhausted, and drained, and unhappy, despite his best efforts to appear otherwise. 

And of course, Thorin noticed.

“If you’re not happy here –” Thorin began one evening when he invited Bilbo for a dinner that Bilbo didn’t realise was private until he got there.

Thorin looked so unhappy at the thought, and Bilbo would do anything to chase that expression from his face.

“I am!” Bilbo exclaimed. “I am happy here… I just can’t sleep.” Thorin’s brow furrowed in concern and Bilbo hastily added, “my room is so large, and I’m not used to being underground yet where I can’t tell what time of day it is, I’m sure I’ll adjust.”

None of things were untrue, but it wasn’t the reason that he couldn’t sleep.

Thorin smiled warmly at him, his relief obvious. “I’m sure there’s something we can do to make you more comfortable,” he assured him. "There are lanterns the miners use that can be dimmed and brightened as needed, I will see about having one placed in your room, to start with."

“I am comfortable, but I wouldn't say no to the lantern,” Bilbo replied, and Thorin looked so pleased at being able to help him that Bilbo started feeling a little guilty he had not told the whole truth.

The rest of the meal passed pleasantly, and when they were done eating, Thorin took his wine and Bilbo his ale and they moved to the more comfortable seating and somewhere between an account of Thorin’s latest meeting with Bard and the anecdotes of the activities of the bored and still recovering Fili and Kili Bilbo fell asleep.

Asleep on Thorin’s shoulder, his face tucked against his collarbone, and Thorin’s arm around his waist.

He blinked himself awake what felt like hours later, and lifted his head to see Thorin _looking_ at him, they way he had looked at him on the Carrock or in Thranduil’s prison and when he had awoken in the healing tent, like Bilbo had done something remarkable and not just drooled against his shoulder while he was sleeping.

“You really were tired,” Thorin observed softly. He was stroking Bilbo's hair again, and Bilbo's eyes were trying to close once more, lulled by the sensation. 

“I sleep better when I’m with you,” Bilbo said, more honest than he would be if he had been awake for more than five minutes and had his first cup of tea, and Thorin smiled.

“Then stay,” Thorin said, a world of promises in his voice, easing Bilbo back down to his shoulder, and Bilbo slept.

When he woke the second time, Bilbo kissed him.   

He didn't have to worry about sleeping alone again, either. 


End file.
